Dear Frankie
by Dragima
Summary: Has anyone ever noticed the similarities between Phantom of the Opera and Frankenstein? :::cricket cricket::: guess not, but here it goes anyways!
1. Three Months to Masquerade

Dear Frankie (actually a PoTO fanfic. Not for those looking for sentimentality or romance…sorry)

The tall, dark haired man sat in his chair, trying with all his might to remain just there, in that very chair. He wanted to dart across the room, throw down his wretched mask and simply disappear into his world of darkness; his world of black despair; his dungeon. He waited for a full hour. Finally, he heard the door knob turn and in came the very man for whom he had spent his entire morning waiting in that infernal chair.

The man walking in was rather short and feeble-looking, or perhaps this was merely by comparison to the other gentleman's larger-than-average height. The man walking in was Dr. Victor Frankenstein, and he (the literary Gods will reserve a special place in English Hell for me after this crossing of genres…lol) had a proposition for his strange French friend.

"Hello Erik" said the good doctor with a dubious smile. He motioned for the masked man to remain in his seat; no need for formalities between partners he supposed.

"What is all this about doctor. I had not heard you were in France, or even planning to visit for another year" Erik's voice veiled a slight edge. Perhaps it was unfair to have characterized their relationship as "partners" they were better described as bitter rivals. Their genius was quite evenly matched, so of course the ultimate goal of each was to outdo the other. This, ironically enough, was the indirect cause of the unusual meeting the doctor had set up on that day.

Doctor Frankenstein had met Erik on one of his many trips to Vienna. Erik was practicing his Punjab Lasso (yes, practicing) and Frankenstein was perfecting his reanimation skills at the local academy (yes, the local academy—in the name of Shelley please forgive me fans of the phantom). They met through a mutual friend. Actually, that is a rather simplistic way of putting it. In truth, Erik killed an impulsive, overbearing little fraction of a man, who just happened to be Victor's most hated Ethics in Medicine professor. They became immediate pals (chums, amigos, buddies…the very best).

Soon however, Victor found himself inquiring as to the nature of the mask behind which Erik constantly hid. The answer was one of great academic importance to Victor, and he simply would not relent (yes, Frankenstein and his medical questions…he is dogged in his approach). Finally, Eric revealed the scarred face behind the mask. Rather than turn aback in fear and dread, the doctor-to-be actually leaned in to gain a better look at the "fascinating specimen" as he had called it.

Erik learned of similar cases throughout history, not the least famous of which had been London's own "elephant man." Erik was not exactly flattered by this last remark, especially since he took the meaning of "elephant man" as a direct assault to his waistline (which, personally, I must comment is a very fine waistline indeed).

"Erik, I am not accustomed to speaking in circles. I like to go directly to the point, say what I mean. Nothing extraneous or unnecessary. This is why if I ever meet a sailor while scouring the artic ocean and he asks me to relate the story of how I came to appear on the cold ice, I will not narrate a whole novel for the man. I will simply say that I am hunting my cursed, soulless creature of a son, and that is that." The doctor finished his verbal run-on in the same matter-of-fact tone he had used to begin.

"What?" Erik looked like he had just been struck by bolt of lightening.

"For God's sake; oh wait, I do not believe in God, I am trying to take God's place…hm…very astute Shelley. Anyways, what I am trying to say is that I need your help."

Once again, Erik found himself unable to speak. It was not often he found himself in this degree of shock, except perhaps when he saw Christine in that scandalous nightgown, but that was a different matter altogether.

"Victor. You have officially reached the point of no return. You are stark raving mad" As Erik lifted his long legs towards the door, a single, bony hand tugged him back.

"Please Erik, you are possibly the only man who can help me."

"Victor. Get help. You are insane, and you do not look to well either, have you been sick?"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders "Plague, you know how it is…luckily it seems I am immune, but it still takes ones' appetite away, what with all the corpses littering the street…and the cemetery which I had to dig up every night…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Ok. You must help me Erik. Help me catch that monster! That hideous thing!"

Erik had been just about to cross the threshold and exit the dilapidated old building, but that single last sentence pulled him back like a bungee chord—which by the way, had not been invented yet. Mustn't forget the setting now…

"What in heaven's name are you billowing about?" returned Erik, beginning to get sourly aggravated.

"I cannot go into details as of yet, I must keep up suspense if this is to be a proper remake of the Gothic Genre."

"But wait a minute, this is not Gothic, this is a screenplay for a Rock Opera. Isn't it?"

"Oh never mind that! We have more important things to worry about! The monster is loose upon the world. Oh the horror! The horror"

"wait a minute. I thought we were crossing Shelle's _Frankenstein _and Andrew Lloyd Weber's _The Phantom of the Opera_, no one said anything about Conrad or_ Heart of Darkness_!"

"Oh don't be silly, besides, we're nowhere near the Congo."

"That's good, because the only thing I can captain is a gondola, and not very well I'm afraid. Those dreaded things do like to get stuck in the most annoying places…dungeons, secret canals, and always when you're about to seduce a young chorus girl into coming into your lair and lying down on your peacock bed."

Now it was the doctor's turn to express confusion, which he did by wrinkling his forehead in he most amusing manner.

"I have no idea what you just said." Finally, the idea seemed to sink into the doctor's brain. With a wink and a broad smile, he continued.

"Chorus girl eh? I'm afraid all I had was a former orphan that my parents took in and raised as their own."

"Hm." The phantom said with a note of disapproval.

"Isn't that slightly incestuous; she's like a sister to you, isn't she?"

"Hm. I guess you are right, but she's not dumb enough to fall for the old 'pose as her father and then pretend to be her guardian angel' trick. It takes a very special sort of bimbo to fall for that one."

Erik was not too sure on how to take this last comment, so he played it safe and lifted the good doctor off the floor by his shirt collar and tossed him clear across the room. The doctor hit the wall with a loud crash and then fell to the floor. The thud and subsequent groan on the part of Frankenstein signaled he had come to terms with gravity once more.

"You are not to speak ill of Christine again! Do you understand me? How did you know about her anyway?"

"Oh forget the plot-holes for a moment will you! Let's concentrate on the task at hand." The doctor made a dizzied attempt at standing erect, which he met with limited success. He sat down on a chair facing the one Erik had previously occupied.

"Now." Began the doctor once again, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his bloodied nose.

"Will you help me or not."  
"Help you with what?"

"The monster."  
"What monster?"

"Oh, you really are daft aren't you? What did you think I was doing at the academy all those years ago? I was creating LIFE! And I succeeded!"  
"Right. Sure, let's just get you to the nice insane asylum and everything will be fine, I hear they make excellent sweaters that make you hug yourself." Erik tried to take Frankenstein's arm and lead him to the door. The doctor seemed to snap at the very instant Erik touched his shoulder. In one convulsive sweep, the doctor was standing straight and staring defiantly into Erik's eyes.

"If you do not believe me, then I must find someone who does. Or perhaps it is fear that keeps you locked in your little opera cellar? How about that? The famous Opera Phantom afraid of my little-crime-against-nature, though I prefer to call him Frankie Junior."

"I am afraid of nothing and no one. And you sir, are completely loony!"

At the very moment the phantom was speaking, a loud crashing sound reverberated throughout the room; someone had literally torn open the door. A hideous figure nearly nine feet tall had ripped the door off its hinges and had knocked a hole in the concrete wall. The monster wailed madly before lunging towards Victor, then, stopping in mid-attack, the beast turned to look at the phantom, who had now pulled off his mask and was staring straight back at the monster.

They both tore into each other's gaze, taking in each hideous detail; the random reattachment of limbs, the repulsive black hole of a nose. A single tear came to the phantom's eye. The monster, too, was moved to tears, though his expression resembled that of a spoiled five-year-old whose snow cone had just fallen into the dirt. The monster moved closer to Erik; a being, an outcast who shared the burden of ostracism; the price which society demands be paid by men such as they. Men cursed with the fear and the loathing of others.

They collided in a brotherly sort of embrace.

"Hello. I am Erik. Can you speak?"

The doctor, who was just about ready to fly off the balcony, shifted uneasily in his seat. He regarded the scene as one bordering on surreal, and certainly well within the reaches of the ridiculous.

"Yes. I am self taught. I lived in a cabin, in a hidden room where I taught myself to read and write."  
The phantom seemed overjoyed with excitement.

"Wait. Did you happen to live underneath the cabin, the cellar perhaps?"

"No."

The phantom seemed a bit disappointed by this, but pushed further.

"But, but you still fell in love with one of the inhabitants right?"

"Well, there was this one girl, but she ran off and married this pretty boy who also lived in the cabin. He hit me with a broom when he found me talking to his father, who was blind."

"No kidding? That is great…I'll tell you about my experiences with pretty boys in a little while, but right now, suffice it to say they are not exactly on my Christmas list."

"Excuse me. Are you two about done, because I need to correct my assault on nature and God and destroy this abomination which I have so heedlessly created. The theme of the story is, after all, to take responsibility for your monsters." He pointed knowingly at the monster, who simply wailed and muttered.

"Aw geez dad…do I have to?"

"Yes son. I'm afraid this is heretical and you are a soulless being, not a creation of god but of man. You are a reflection of man's attempt to usurp the power of God, and I am the representation of science and all the evils that come from reckless abuse of technology."

"Wow, that was really perceptive. English major?" asked the phantom.

"Um…no. What are you talking about? I am Doctor Frankenstein; I most certainly am NOT an English student taking a writing 20 course titled 'What is Gothic'"

"Oh, Ok. My fault. Do go on."

"Anyways…Frankie Jr. You are to plunge into the icy abyss of the Arctic Ocean with me, so that our novel…ehem, I mean, out lives will be concluded on a tragic note, showing catharsis for all our sins."

"But…but…" grumbled the phantom, twiddling his thumbs resignedly.

"I just got to meet him. We're friends. You can't take him away from me; he's as miserable and wretched as I am."

The monster nodded in elated agreement.

"Just look at him…he's a sickly yellow, his eyes are red and deformed, his skin looks like its pulled too tightly over rotting flesh…"

"Hey Phantom, you mind giving it a rest. We get the point already, I'm ugly, that's it."

"Sorry man, I didn't mean anything by it."

"S'aright"

"Alright, fine I give in. I suppose we can delay the inevitable for a few months. You two can have a ball while I get things ready, now let's see. I'll need: arctic clothing, fur, snow boots…sled dogs, oh yes, dogs will freeze nicely in the frigid Arctic air. I will be found limp and half-dead amongst the dogs…oh it shall be quite the lark!" The doctor continued his ramblings as he exited through the hole his offspring had left in the wall.

"Are you sure you want to advertise that he is your father?"

"I don't really have much choice. Popular culture has inextricably bound creator and creation, to the point where, in the eyes of the ignorant masses, Frankenstein and the monster are one in the same; we are not even given separate names. As you have probably heard (or perhaps not since the novel has not gained any sort of notoriety as of yet), I am the "monster" and yet, everyone calls me 'Frankenstein' it is quite annoying really."

The monster turned to go as well, promising to return to a nearby dark alley to meet the phantom for lunch tomorrow morning. For the next three months, they were the very best of friends. Inseparable to the very end. Of course, after the three months had gone by it was time Frankie Junior return to the artic and "take the plunge" so-to-speak with his father. And he did, to which fact millions of Shelley fans can attest.

As for the phantom, well, he made his way back to the opera house, where they were having quite a charming gala. A masquerade ball actually. Erik decided to don the Death's head and a flowing red cape in honor of his dearly departed friend. And that is why the phantom did not haunt the Opera Populaire for a full three months between the disappearance of Miss Daae and the famous _Don Juan Triumphant_ incident (in which he looked positively jaw dropping by the way).


	2. Masquerade! La didadidadida!

Chapter Two: The Bal Masque

Er…can I say that? Won't that push up the whole PG rating of this fic? Anyways, what have you. Once again we are brought back to the land of insanity and ridiculousness. In other words, we are back inside my mind, where you will undoubtedly come across a strange and curious creature. A creature with a leather mask covering half of his face, or is it a fourth? We can see his mouth unobstructed, oohh think of that for a moment, Gerard Butler's mouth. Hm…oops, out of character there for a sec. I am the omniscient narrator, with an unbiased outlook and sexually indeterminate stance. I admire nothing, describe all. That's it. Still, gotta luv that boy's bum!

Anyways…must remember to mentally scold myself for that disgraceful comment.

So last we heard of poor Frankenstein, he had jumped into the frigid waters of Antartica, plummeting to his doom alongside his miserable creator. Bearing an eerie resemblance to the final scene of _Titanic_, the dreaded duo uttered their last parting words.

Frankenstein's monster, being smarter than Shelley credits him, takes hold of a life raft which was randomly floating atop the murky green waters and wades gently toward the water's edge. A nearby penguin immediately curses the monster for taking his only toy. The little creature shakes his fist…er, fin, er…uh…wing (pardon my lack of knowledge in the field of bird anatomy).

Frankenstein's monster knew he could never show his face in society again (well, I suppose "again" is a rather inappropriate word to use. I just thought "never have never will" was lacking in the somber quality I feel is most fitting for this morose and somber fiction…see, I'm serious, I even used "somber" twice!). He knew exactly who to turn to in times such as these, the only other man in God's green earth (don't worry, I won't start _that_ again…) who would understand what it feels like to have to spend a lifetime in shadow. Frankenstein then grabbed hold of the nearest tuxedoed foul and urged the belligerent little fellow to make haste for Paris, France.

Having had his fill of pecks in the eye, the monster decided, instead, to stowaway the ship that was ever so conveniently passing by his plot of ice.

"Masquerade!"

"Masquerade!"

"Ladida, dida, dun dum dum!"

_Arg_, thought the phantom with a scowl. He was wondering how long he would have to wait before those fools stopped their ridiculous singing. He was also curiouos about the precise procedure to take in order to remove the black eyeshadow he had placed around his eyes. Inspecting his reflection in the mirror, he couldn't help but notice how very flattering that particular shade of black was to his eye color.

"I really hope I have not turned gay all of a sudden. This had better not be one of _those_ fanfictions…"

I assure you, Erik, that you shall remain completely heterosexual in this fiction.

Erik breathed a silent sigh of relief. He straightened a loose tendril of hair, and realized it was his cue to step in front of the crowd of masked spectators. He was late.

"Oops."

"Fashionably late, eh Monsieur Phantom?" Mouthed the rather cheeky blonde girl in the extremely revealing ball gown.

Erik had to remind himself once more that he was here to attend to very serious matters, which did not necessarily involve this particular blonde girls' ample, and highly enticing bosom.

What the hell.

"Hello, Mademoiselle, what is _your _name." He said alluringly.

Christine stepped on his foot, he had been so distracted by cleavage that he had not noticed her running right up to him on the stairway.

"Ow! You know what? Just for that…yoik!" He had to think of something clever and devious to sing at that moment, something to solidify his role as the brooding anti-hero.

"Your chains are still mine! You belong to me!" He pocketed the ring, and took one last look at the blonde number's advertisement.

The woman smiled noticeably, eyeing Erik's tight, well formed bum in that ever so sexy pair of red-death pants. Being an omnescient, all knowing but completely infallible narratorI cannot say that I too am hopelessly oogling at that fine arse. Nor can I say that his sensual smile and to-die-for pecks attracted me as well. I cannot say that.

"Meg!" Christine scolded.

No, Christine, I did not mean that Meg smiled back, I meantMadame Giry.

"Ew."

"Hey, I am a heterosexual too alright. I'm not dead you know. And just look at that ass!"

Suddenly reduced to little more than a Chippendale's dancer, Erik's face darkened with indignation.

"I'm still here you know, the puff of smoke thing hasn't happened yet."

"Well then what are you waiting for…Raoul will be back from the bathroom any second now."

With those final words, the Vicomte stepped out of the John and was just finished fastening the latch on his belt when the Phantom vanished into a puff of smoke and fire.

_Aren't I just the coolest?_ He thought inwardly, taking a moment to fix a tiny smudge on his cheek from the eye shadow. Secretly, this was one of the main reasons that portal had so many mirrors around it. The Vicomte soon discovered the opening, and was marveled at how swishy and dashing his hair looked in the 360 degree mirror room. He made a mental note to thank the phantom for his taste in décor whenever he had the chance. Seeing the Punjab lasso dislodge from the ceiling, Raoul figured this would not be the best time to ask the phantom the name of his interior decorator.

**Thanks to my sole reviewer (gerbear). It is because of you that I have decided to add this lil bit to the story…don't you feel special! LOL See that everyone, it DOES pay to review…you get chapters dedicated to you…**

**PS: Yeah...erik in tight, red pants...:wah...ahem...er, uh...was I gonna do something..oh yes...please review!**


	3. The Cemetery ooh scary!

Prologue: This chapter is dedicated to er…uh…(thinks quickly…teddy bear, toothbrush, dental floss, the academy? Um...um…no, that's not it!) Ok. Ok. I've got it! I dedicate it to Erik for President, even though the review was kinda…um…succinct (quote: "woohoo"). I'm not sure if it was because of my story or because someone put a crawdad in your shorts but either way…thanks and here's to you! (tips Champaign glass)

Chapter Three: The Cemetery…oooh! Scary!

I have decided to approach the construct of this chapter in a slightly different manner than I have in the past. I will make this more screen-play oriented, since the narrator in my previous chapters has been quite…lets just say _distracted_.

Narrator (quoting Giry in chapt. Two): Hey, I am not dead you know! I have a sex drive too…and that Erik is a bleeping sexy beast!

Yes, yes, we are all well aware of his sexy-beast qualities. But really, you are a narrator, you are not a mere phangirl. So, in light of this development, I shall have to demote you to setting coordinator.

Narrator: well, what does that mean?

Well, basically, you stand around and describe the scene as it occurs, detailing the expressions on the character's faces, their actions and the various changing backgrounds. I am sorry but you really have left me with little choice.

Narrator: Do I get to describe _all_ of the character's emotions?

I see where this is going…yes, you will have every opportunity to describe (quite at length I am sure) Erik's physique, his facial expressions, his mannerisms, etc… All I ask is that you try to keep this as family-oriented as possible. This is, after all, a K rated fanfic.

Narrator: Why of course! When shall I begin this new occupation of mine.

Whenever you see fit. The scene will begin shortly, and it will be your job to describe the graveyard, Christine's clothing, well, you know the rest. I trust you have seen the movie.

Narrator: Yes, I have.

Of Course. But have you _seen _the _movie_. Meaning things _other _than Gerard Butler's behind?

Narrator: (hesitating) Yes. (pause) Of course.

Great! I see you have already begun to describe the passage of time. You are truly adept, my friend. Now, Being the author of this fanfiction, I am trusting you with my reputation. In other words, no _smut! _Nothing _above PG13_, and most importantly…_no gawking at the male cast members! _I am not hiring you to feast your eyes. I hired you to perform a much needed task. Now, get ready, the show is about to begin. Take your place…here is the microphone. You begin when the title of the chapter comes into view.

**Chapter 3: The Cemetery…ooh! Scary!**

Setting: Yay! I'm back! Ooh..sorry, I got it. So Christine is walking past a large, snowy white cemetery, passing many beautiful and haunting statues of angels and saints. She wears a very low cut black ensemble, with flowing black hood draped over her thin shoulders. I'm very good, no?

Christine: (singing, well she _is!_ Nothing else to say!) _Passing bells and sculpted angels, Cold and monumental, seem for you the wrong companions, you were warm and gentle…_

Setting: Christine, could you hurry it up a bit, honey, I want to get to the next part. Do you mind?

Would you _stop_ hurrying the characters! You _can't_ do that! The story must go as Mr. Schumacher designed it! Do you want me to fire you, because that, my friend, can be easily arranged!

Setting: Fine, fine! You don't have to get all crabby!

And watch the slang! This is, after all, 19th century France.

Setting: Can I at least let out a frustrated groan?

No, that is only for the characters, you are not an actual part of the cast, you merely detail their movements for the audience.

Setting: Why?

Because they cannot _see_ the characters! Why am I wasting time with you? Just do as I ask!

Setting: My goodness! And I thought the Phantom had control issues!

(glares)

Setting: Ok, ok…so Christine is singing, what a surprise…yawn…

No written indication of movement for you! You are just the setting!

Setting: Fine then!

Christine: (oblivious to the scandal that just took place)

I did NOT give a scandal! I am the _author_ for Heaven's sake! I just want to be in charge of my _own story_!

Setting: Whatever.

Christine: (sings…blah blah)

Oh, I give up! Do what you want…I have a thesis to prepare…

Setting: (beams) Really?

Yeah, go ahead, I'm leaving. It is your story now.

Setting: (smiles broadly, wickedly) And…and they will do what _I _tell them to?

(obviously annoyed at ending a question with a preposition) Yes…I know I will regret this later, but I suppose I have no other choice. You are going to turn my story into trash anyway so I might as well let you take the blame.

Setting: (still smiling, though slightly less because of the insult) Er..ok…

Just promise me that you will _behave_ (rolling eyes at the futility of the request) and keep this PG13. And for all that is good and right with the world…leave that poor man _alone_!

Setting: Tee-hee…I make no such promise.

Of course not.

Setting: Isn't that a line from the movie?

I'm surprised you noticed, considering that the Phantom wasn't even in that scene.

Setting: (annoyed) Weren't you going to work on a thesis or something…

Yes, yes, I am leaving. Good-bye…(mumbles) Heaven help us all!

Setting: Good-bye, Dragima. (turns around suddenly, evil chuckle broadens into full maniacal laughter) MWAHAHAHAZ! They are MINE! Proceed, my PUPPETS!

Chrisine: (puzzled expression) Is someone laughing? (shrugs nonchalantly) No matter. Where was I? Oh, yes. (clears throat) _Wishing you were somehow here again, wishing you were somehow near! Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed…somehow you would be heeere!_

Setting: Ok, girlie, enough of this crap. In comes the phantom. Dun, dun, dun!

Phantom: Wait? I'm up? Already (lays down sandwich on the mausoleum coffee table and clears throat hurriedly) _Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my…guidance!_

Christine: (decides to shut up and says nothing) What? That isn't in the script! (takes out script and starts to read)

Phantom: (continues with his song, all the while wearing an alluring set of bun-hugging black trousers and practically see-through white lawn shirt, all under a dashing black cloak) Wait a minute, what in the world is going on here?

Setting: Hush! Read the directions! You are supposed to be _singing!_

Phantom: (puzzled) Who are you? What…why are you…well this is not…

Setting: (impatiently) Dear…sweet…sexy beast. Please. Don't fight my whims, you cannot. I am in control now. I control the horizontal, the vertical…Wait…no, that's the outer limits…never mind. Just do as I say!

Phantom: (beginning to question the disembodied voice's sanity, worries) Um…ok…but this is a duet between Christine and me, I cannot continue by myself.

Setting: No problem (materializes as a petite young woman in early twenties with light brown hair and green eyes) I am officially your new Christine. I am better because as I have already describe, "in her early twenties" I am _legal_.

Phantom: (really freaked out by now) Akk! What the bloody blazes just happened!

Setting: Hm…you are taller than I thought, I'll have to materialize myself a new pair of heels for out _final kiss_…(puckers lips)

Phantom: (scared, flushes red, draws back as if the very devil were in front of him)

Setting: What the hell? Who _wrote that? _I didn't write that! Get _back_ here, Erik!

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! It is I! The Almighty Dragima! _I _wrote that! I am the new setting! Since you materialized yourself as a character…that leaves a void to be filled…my _ME! _

Setting: Eep…

That is _sooo_ true.

Phantom: (very, very, very scared and confused) Um…where did Christine go?

Setting & Dragima: What?

Phantom: Well, she hasn't been mentioned since, well, several lines ago, and um…(twiddling fingers, hesitates fearfully) I kind of need her to finish this scene. That and well, I'm in love with her and you two just made her vanish into thin air.

I am sorry, Erik my dear, I shall bring her back to you. But first…I shall have to make proper arrangements for you, Miss Oh-I'll-just-wait-for-Dragima-to-leave-and-then-take-over-a-character's-part-so-I-can-snog-with-the-leading-man! _You_ are in _deep trouble!_

Setting: (worriedly) Um…what are you going to do to me?

(devious laugh) MwAhAHA! You, my friend…will be in my story…yes…I can see it now.

Poof!

Setting (now as a character) transforms into…Raoul's _hairdresser!_

Setting: NOOOOOOOO! THE FFFFFFFOOOOOOPPPPPPPP!

I figured this is a good way to end it…that way you guys have to review in order to see what happens to Frankie, the setting, and poor, poor Christine (who has yet to materialize). Oh yes, and, of course, there is always Erik…and here's a hint. In this story -since I have already butchered Schumacher's original masterpiece, and am already on the elevator to Hell because of it- the traditional ending is not exactly…applicable. So I have made my own. And you shall read it…because DRAGIMA IS THE NEW SETTING, and THE SETTING IS OMNIPOTENT! MWAHAHAHAZ!


End file.
